


Everything Opened

by thecontranym



Category: Stranger Things (TV 2016)
Genre: (through season two), Canon Compliant
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-07-02
Updated: 2019-07-02
Packaged: 2020-06-02 22:18:56
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 4,678
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19450609
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thecontranym/pseuds/thecontranym
Summary: Filling in the holes at the end of season two, and then some. Follows canon to the end of season two, rated T for some swearing but nothing worse than the show.*I DID originally start posting this on FFN (username diapason), but am testing for a possible switch to AO3. Pardon my dust!





	1. Chapter 1

**November 4, 1984**

No one said a word on the ride back. One way or another, it was all over, and all they could do was stare out the car windows, count stop signs, try their best to pretend they didn't notice the way Mike trembled under the yellow light of every passing streetlamp, _wait_.

When they got to the Byers', Mike went straight for Will's room, digging up his supercom and calling out again and again until Steve pried it from his fingers.

"That thing's range is way too short-"

Mike wrestled it back. "That's not the point-"

"She's probably really drained," Dustin offered. "She'll need time to recharge."

"The chief will bring her back here," Lucas reasoned. "Sit down."

But Mike _couldn't_ sit down. Everything in him buzzed. He paced up and down the hall, walked circles around the kitchen table, ignoring the tired glares from Dustin and Lucas and stopping only to look out the front windows every time he passed.

He mentally calculated over and over the time it should take them to drive back from the lab. He added the time it might take them if they had to stop for gas. And go to the bathroom. And change a flat tire. He imagined everything that could've possibly gone wrong, counting every miserable second of an hour before the crunch of gravel and flash of headlights outside signaled company.

He was out the door in a heartbeat. Steve tumbled after him, swearing, and caught him by the jacket just before he could throw himself off the porch. "We did not survive all that just for you to get run over-"

It was Jonathan.

They spilled from the car, sweaty and exhausted and triumphant. Joyce was last, cradling Will to her chest. "He's alright," she whispered as they swarmed around them, a shaky smile lighting up her eyes. "He's alright, it's gone, it's gone, he's sleeping. Shh. He's sleeping."

Everyone followed as she carried him up the porch steps and inside. "Don't wake him up. Here, help me put him in bed."

Jonathan pulled back his sheets as Joyce laid him down, and they both tucked him carefully in as the others watched from the doorway.

Nancy moved quietly beside Mike. "It's really gone?" he asked.

"It's gone."

"Have you talked to Chief Hopper?"

"A little. Our connection was bad. They closed the gate. They were bringing Dr. Owens to the hospital, but we told them to come here after."

"Eleven's okay?"

"... I'm sure she's fine."

Mike huffed.

Nancy pulled him suddenly into a hug, and for a moment, he was too surprised to move. "I'm really glad you're okay," she whispered.

Immediately, guilt grabbed hold of him. Once again, he'd gotten so lost in his own head that he'd forgotten she'd already lost Barbara- and tonight she'd gone with Jonathan as he'd fought not to lose his brother. _She was scared to lose him, too_.

He hesitated, then leaned into her. "You, too."

"... Oh my god, you _reek_. Like gasoline. What did you do?"

* * *

Again, headlights blinked in the windows, and again, Mike was running out the door with Steve right behind him. Finally, it was Hopper's SUV... passenger seat empty.

Terror curled its fingers around Mike's heart and squeezed. He stumbled, and Steve caught him, wrestling him back. "Where is she?" he shouted, voice hoarse. "Where is she?"

The Chief climbed out, turning wordlessly to open the back door. Laid in the back seat, blood smeared from her nose all the way down her neck, black shirt glittering with it, was " _El_." The Chief brushed a wild curl from her face. "Come on, kid," he murmured. "Mike's here."

Her eyelids fluttered. "Mike?"

Relief hit him hard in the stomach, all the air rushing from his lungs. His tears threatened to spill over, but a breathless smile pulled at his lips. "Eleven." He tore free from Steve, flying off the porch and elbowing his way past Hopper to climb up into the car. He held her tight as he could, and she curled her fingers in his shirt with a sigh.

The others hovered on the porch, unable to move, all too afraid to ask.

"It's over," Hopper told them. "It's all over."

* * *

"Three weeks after she disappeared, Thomas Barnes came to me claiming he'd been attacked by a wild little boy in the woods. Stole his coat and hat. I started leaving food for her, and she came out right after Christmas, so we fixed up the cabin and I've been taking care of her there."

"All by yourself?"

"Joyce... I'm sorry. I didn't want to give you something else to worry about. I did the best I could."

"No." It was Nancy, wrapped up in a blanket, glaring at him from across the room. "No, you shouldn't have kept them apart."

Every head in the room turned to where Mike and Eleven slept on the living room couch. In the dark, their bodies were indistinguishable. It was intimate in a way that hurt to watch; Hopper looked down into his coffee instead.

"They were watching him even closer than they were watching me, and if they'd thought for a moment that she was alive, that she was here, they would not have hesitated to use him to get to her." He looked her in the eyes. "Or to kill him if he got between them and what they wanted."

Nancy paled. Jonathan reached over to cover her hand with his.

"So, what now?" Joyce demanded. "You continue to hide her out there?"

"Yes and no."

" _Hop_."

"I... convinced Dr. Owens to help her. She'll still have to lay low for a while, but soon... soon for real this time... she can start to live."

"With Dr. Owens?"

"No! _No_." Again, he looked down into his coffee. "With me."

* * *

It was nearly one in the morning before they all stepped once more out of the Byers' house and into the moonlight. Billy led Max to his car in silence; she gave them all a reassuring little wave as they pulled away. Steve volunteered to drive the rest of them home, but as they piled into the car, Mike hung back, holding tight to Eleven's hand. Hopper had carried her from the couch to the car, but she'd climbed stubbornly back out in order to say one more goodbye.

"Go on, kid," Hopper murmured, taking one last draw from his cigarette before squashing it under his boot. "Go get some sleep."

Mike only glared.

Hopper hoped the ache it put in his gut didn't show, and rolled his eyes. "You don't trust me? Fine. Trust her. I couldn't keep her from you now if I wanted to. God himself couldn't."

Mike looked down at Eleven, searching her face. "Promise?"

She clearly didn't want to leave either, but she nodded. "Promise."

* * *

**November 5, 1984**

They'd tried to call Will from the phone at school. Ms. Byers had answered, told them not to worry, he was fine, he was still resting, that the whole ordeal had really wiped him out, and they ought to head home and get some rest too. Lucas, Dustin, and Max seemed eager enough to do so, but Mike had other plans.

After splitting from the others, he biked home as fast as he could. He dumped his bookbag in the den, promised his mother he'd start on all the chores he'd missed over the weekend, then ran up to his room and grabbed his supercom, shutting himself in his closet.

For a long moment, he could only sit in anxious silence. What if she didn't answer?

"Eleven?" he finally whispered.

Nothing. Terrible, horrible, deafening nothing.

And then, clear as day, "Mike."

He fought the lump of emotion that rose in his throat, the tears that he didn't want. "How do I find you?"

* * *

Mike might not have slept properly in over three days, but he'd never been more awake. The world rushed by in a blur of reds and golds as he flew down woodsy back roads that hardly anyone else ever traveled. The autumn air was sharp in his throat and his legs ached but he only pushed himself harder around every corner he turned. She was here, she was here, she was there at the end, at the edge of the woods, messy hair and frumpy sweater and too-big jeans and big brown eyes on the verge of tears.

He didn't even slow down- just stepped off his bike and let it crash as he stumbled into her, wrapping her up. "You're okay?" he gasped.

She nodded against his shoulder, little hands curling into his jacket and holding on tight. Yet another wave of relief washed over him- he had to be at least six feet underwater by now. They stood there for ages, reveling in each other's warmth, both trying to convince themselves that if they let go, the other wouldn't disappear.

Eleven's hair tickled his cheek, and he managed to pull back enough to take in the soft curls that now tumbled over her forehead; the tears that streaked her cheeks; her nose, red from the-

"Are you cold?"

* * *

She led him through the trees, around snares and over trip wires to a cabin with boarded windows but steady smoke drifting from the chimney. "You've been here this whole time?" he asked as they stepped inside. It was warm, cozy, comfy even- but that wasn't what he meant. How could she have been so _close_?

She slipped off his jacket, hanging it by the door, and tugged him to her room- small, plain, neat. They sat on her bed, fingers still locked, knees pressed together.

Looking at her, the shadow of her eyelashes on her cheeks and the little scar over her eyebrow and the tired curve of her shoulders, the pressure in his chest swelled until suddenly he couldn't take it anymore. "Tell me everything," he whispered.

"I went to the upside down, but I got back out, and I tried to go to you, but it wasn't safe. I had to keep you safe."

"I'm so sorry."

She shook her head, "It wasn't your fault."

"I still wish..."

"I know."

"Where did you go, then?"

"I hid in the woods... then here. Then mama's."

"Your mom's?"

"I thought I could be home with her, but she's stuck in her dream circle."

"Her dream circle? Like in a coma?"

"Coma?"

He ducked his head. Her bed sheets had little pink flowers on them. Had the Chief bought them for her? Did she like flowers? "It's... somewhere between sleep and death."

"No. More somewhere between sleep and awake," she mused. "But she showed me. She showed me my sister."

"You have a sister?"

She brushed her fingers absentmindedly over her wrist. "008."

"Oh." Eight, Eleven... How many others were there?

"I found her. In Chicago. She thought I could be home with her there... but she was festering. She was like the bad men. She... she tried to use me to do bad things, and when I wouldn't... when I stopped her..."

She couldn't finish, but she didn't have to. He squeezed her hands.

"You were in danger, so I came back."

He weighed his words. "Back home?"

She trembled, reached up to touch his cheek, fingertips feather-light. The way she looked at him, with regret and relief bordering awe and something even more than love, made his heart do strange things. "Yes. Home." _Him_.

His emotions broke all the way open, all the hurt and all the need of a year spent not knowing rushing out in a big awful mess. "I don't have the words..."

But of course he didn't need them. "It's okay. I know." And then, "Me, too."

He pulled her in and held on tight. "Never again." Never again would someone cage her, hurt her, use her. Never again would they be torn apart. "I promise."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi! H, here. Thanks for reading! I DID originally start posting this story on FFN (username diapason), but am considering switching to AO3, so I'm here to test the waters and explore all the differences in format. Pardon my dust!


	2. Chapter 2

**November 5, 1984**

Everything that had happened and everything that hadn't happened and everything she'd wanted to tell him when he'd called her every night poured out of her. She spoke more than she'd spoken in her entire life, but he listened intently to every word, eyes full of wonder.

He asked all kinds of questions. Hard questions, about how she liked living with Hopper and whether she wanted to visit her mom again and whether she really thought Dr. Brenner was out there and why she didn't just look. They were questions she wouldn't have answered for anyone else, but she wanted to tell him everything. Even though she didn't always have the right words, he seemed to understand her anyways.

He asked little questions, too. He wanted to know her favorite flower and her favorite book and her favorite TV show and her favorite food, which he was amused to hear was still Eggos. He promised to bring her some next time.

 _Next time_. The words came with a smile, and made her insides all warm. After all this time, after all she'd told him, she was still entirely, unconditionally wanted.

A knock on the door made them both jump- Hopper was home. Disappointment dropped heavy in her stomach, but only stayed a moment. They had time, she reminded herself, unlocking the door. They had all the time in the world.

* * *

**November 6, 1984**

The cabin where the Chief had been hiding Eleven was awfully far from school, but hey, they'd willingly walked into a monster-infested alternate dimension tunnel maze for her. They'd bike to Timbuktu for her, too.

Besides, all Max had to do was ride along on the back of Lucas's bike. He smelled like cinnamon. Not so bad.

They biked as far out as they could, then stashed their bikes in the bushes to trek through the woods, climbing carefully over the booby traps Mike pointed out. They knocked a secret code on the cabin's front door, listened to the answering chorus of unlocking deadbolts- and there she was.

Max did a double take. She'd expected slicked back hair and smudgy punk eyeliner; this curly haired, _cherubic_ girl in a pink sweater was almost unrecognizable.

The others were less surprised. "El!" Dustin and Lucas piled on. "We're glad you're feeling better!"

Eleven smiled, holding still until they stepped back. Then Mike pushed past them to hug her, and she held on like she never wanted to let go. It was every bit as golden as the moment they'd first reunited. Such hard people, Max mused, but together, they looked so _soft_. She stepped quietly around them, setting her things by Dustin and Lucas's.

"So this is your secret hideout," Dustin hummed, already poking around their bookshelf. "Does one of these open a hidden door?"

"Dude," Lucas smacked him, "seriously?"

Despite its hostile exterior, inside the cabin, it was... homey. Not for the first time, Lucas's words at the arcade echoed in her head: "When you think about where else she might be... it's probably better that she's dead." Who would have thought she could end up here?

"Woah!" Abandoning the books, Dustin swept across the room, starry-eyed. "What kind of radio is that?"

* * *

**November 9, 1984**

Friday, Hopper came home late, tired and anxious, and said, "Sit down, kid. This is important."

Nancy and Jonathan had sent out tapes that had rocketed the lab into the international spotlight. The FBI was coming- they might be even bigger bad guys. If she made it through their investigation, that was it. She'd be really, truly safe. But until then, they had to keep hiding, just like before. He was so, so sorry.

But Eleven didn't care. Not as long as she had Mike. He called her in the mornings when he woke up, just to tell her good morning and ask how she'd slept, and then right after school he came to the cabin. He brought her Eggos and held her hand and looked at her like she were his whole sky and told her he'd missed her since the moment he'd left the night before.

Dustin and Lucas and Max came, too. They chased away the shadows and filled the house with laughter. They brought cards or games or movies on tape, or simply spread out on the floor to do their homework, trying their best to explain it to her as they went.

("It's called the nervous system," Dustin finished.

"And these- your lungs- are how you breathe- that's the respiratory system," Lucas pointed to the picture in his book.

"And the vascular system, too," Mike told her. "When you breathe, in your lungs, the oxygen in the air goes into your blood, and your blood gets pumped through your whole body when your heart beats."

She put her hand over her heart. "Bah-bahmp."

"Yeah," he mirrored her, cheeks pink. "Bah-bahmp.")

She smiled at Hopper. "Alright," she told him.

"Alright?" he repeated, unsure.

"Yes. Alright."

A week ago she'd almost lost everything she'd ever wanted, but now she had more than she'd ever dared to hope for. It was the best kind of overwhelming. She'd never been this happy in her entire life.

* * *

**November 10, 1984**

Joyce and Jonathan had kept Will home from school all week, insisting he rest. Hopper had dropped by a few times, and they'd finally let the boys come over for a while on Friday, but they'd only now agreed to let him out of the house.

That morning was all clear skies and warm sunshine, perfect for a bike ride or a walk down the railroad tracks or holing himself in the arcade. Instead, he stood between his mom and Jonathan and watched as they lowered Bob Newby into the ground.

His was the last of fourteen funerals in Hawkins that week. Hopper had somehow ensured that the dead- both human and alien- would all be buried before the FBI could get their hands on them. He stood just behind Joyce, quiet but strong and steady. Mike and Lucas and Dustin and Max and Nancy and even Steve were there, too. They all knew the truth. That helped, if only a little.

Bob's parents had flown in from Maine. Standing on the other side of his grave, they cried and cried even harder than Joyce. They thought their son had been a helpless victim of a chemical leak at Hawkins Laboratory. They'd never know the truth.

The truth was that their son was the reason that his mom and Mike and Hopper did not have their own funerals today. Their son had volunteered to die so that they could live and fight. If he hadn't, they wouldn't have been able to get Eleven to the gate, and the mind flayer would have them all. He was a hero.

* * *

What a terrible kind of hero to be.

* * *

**November 11, 1984**

Sunday night, the Byers drove out to Hopper and Eleven's cabin for dinner. Joyce and Jonathan hovered over Will as they walked through the woods, as though he might fall over at any second and they were ready to catch him when he did. It was okay. He understood. But he had to show them he was doing better now if he wanted to go back to school tomorrow.

He _was_ doing better- _much_ better. He politely declined their help and climbed over a fallen tree by himself; the strain of his muscles and the way the air rushed from his lungs as he landed solidly on the other side felt too good to put into words.

Hopper opened the door for them with a smile, ruffling Will's hair as he stepped inside. It was warm, Bruce Springsteen's voice drifted up from the record player in the back, and whatever was cooking smelled delicious.

"Will!" Mike sat on the couch... and behind him could only be Eleven.

Will's heart skipped a beat. "Hi."

"How are you feeling?" Mike asked.

"I'm good."

Mike glanced back at Eleven and smiled. "I guess you still haven't met, huh? Will, this is Eleven."

Will couldn't pull his eyes from her. She was... not at all the way he'd imagined her.

She'd saved him, saved them all. He'd heard all about it, watched as his friends struggled with her disappearance- especially Mike. Still, she'd seemed far away, almost unreal, like a fallen hero in a comic book or even a martyred saint. But she'd come back and done it again, and now she was sitting on the end of the couch in too-big blue jeans and fuzzy socks.

"I- I don't know how to thank you."

She only shook her head. "I'm just happy you're okay."

He remembered that voice, so soft in the dark of the Upside Down. He'd thought she was an angel.

"Dinner's almost ready," Hopper announced. "Everyone grab a chair."

* * *

All through dinner, and even after, when they were all on the living room floor playing Chinese checkers, Will couldn't pull his eyes from her.

She was no comic book hero, no saint sent from above, no angel in the night. She was small. She was quiet. She jumped at loud noises or sudden movements. _She was the same kind of damaged he was._

And then Hopper would touch her shoulder, or Mike would take her hand, and her feet would find solid ground. She'd smile, only a little smile, but it was like the sun shining out of a person. In that instant, he could see the strength in the middle of her.

She could turn Jean Grey to dust.

For the first time since last November, he knew he was safe with her. For the first time since last November, he could _breathe_.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi! H, here. Thanks for reading! I DID originally start posting this story on FFN (username diapason), but am considering switching to AO3, so I'm here to test the waters and explore all the differences in format. Pardon my dust!


	3. Chapter 3

**Monday, November 12, 1984**

Joyce had thought up every excuse possible, but Will had somehow managed to convince her not only to let him go back to school, but to let him go to Hopper's cabin afterwards, too. She knew she had to let him go eventually, and that the sooner they could both step back into the real world, the easier it would be. But now, parked in front of the school, she was beginning to panic.

"Will, sweetie, are you sure-"

"Mom, it's okay," he turned away from the window to smile at her. "I'll be fine. Really."

"If you change your mind-"

"I can call you. I know. But I won't."

She sighed, ran a shaky hand over his hair, brushed at a piece of lint on his jacket. Not only was he still recovering from sharing his body with the Mind Flayer, and she from almost losing him, but as the lab had been thrust into the spotlight, they'd gone with it.

It had been easy to change their story to match Jonathan and Nancy's: while in the woods, Will had been exposed to a small amount of the same leaked gas that had killed Barbara Holland, leaving him comatose. The lab had found and treated him just in time to save him, but had continued to bring him in to monitor and manage the incident's long term physical and emotional effects.

While this satisfied most of the town, Joyce knew that kids could be cruel. They'd teased him before, and today their whispers would be louder than ever.

"Stay with your friends, okay? And stay warm. And when you make it to the cabin, don't forget to radio Hopper. And you don't have to come home by yourself, he'll drive you when he gets off work-"

"Mom, I'm going to be late."

"Right. Okay." She leaned across to kiss him on the forehead. "I love you. So much."

"I love you, too." He climbed from the car, and bent down to smile at her through the window. "Bye."

"Bye."

She watched him walk away, a smile plastered onto her face until he disappeared inside and she sagged, forehead against steering wheel. _Please, please,_ please, _let everything be okay._

* * *

Now that he had Dr. Owens in his pocket, Hopper wasn't half as worried about the lab. The FBI, on the other hand, was a whole new kind of dangerous. He'd worked day and night to ensure that when they began their investigation, they'd need his help every step of the way, and that nothing they found could possibly lead them to Eleven.

The official investigation had begun today, and though it had gone as smoothly as it could have, he was totally drained, and he still had one hurdle to jump before he could eat dinner and fall into bed. As he walked up the cabin steps, childish laughter floated towards him, and despite his exhaustion, he stopped a moment and just listened.

How strange, this feeling. How... nice. He wanted to let them go on like this forever.

Instead, he knocked on the door, and when it opened, all was quiet. Eleven peeked up at him over the back of the couch, where she sat pressed against Mike. Will was perched on the bed (his cheeks had more color in them than they had in over a year), the Mayfield girl was curled up in the arm chair, and, for some reason, Dustin and Lucas were sprawled on the floor.

"Hi?" Eleven whispered.

"Hey, kid." He hung up his hat.

"What happened today?" Mike asked. "How much do they know?"

"Jesus Christ," he shrugged out of his jacket. "Let me sit down first."

"Bad?" Eleven asked, voice cracking.

"No, no, it's okay. But I need to eat. And then... then we need to talk."

They followed him to the kitchen, all cramming in around the tiny table opposite him.

If they wanted to visit Eleven, he explained between mouthfuls of leftover mashed potatoes, they had to have their own set of Don't Be Stupid Rules- and there were a lot. None of them went to the cabin alone. Both Hopper and Joyce knew when they were going. They told their parents they'd be "exploring in the woods-" technically not a lie, and impossible to follow up on. They took different routes every day. When they got to the cabin, they checked in with Hopper, who would check in with Joyce. They all had to stay inside. They couldn't stay past sundown. If they left the cabin, they checked in with Hopper, who would check in with Joyce. They couldn't come every day- three days a week, tops.

Unsurprisingly, this was where Mike cut him off. "Three days a week?"

Hopper did his best to keep his expression hard as he met the boy's eyes. He was sharing a chair with Eleven, and though Hopper couldn't see it, he knew they were holding hands under the table. They just couldn't keep them off of each other.

Mike held his stare, angry and unblinking. He was the only one of the kids who wasn't even a little afraid of Hopper. Although Hopper would never admit it, _he_ was afraid of _Mike_.

"Where did you go before, kid? The arcade? Go to the arcade. Keep up appearances, or people will wonder what you're doing instead."

"But-"

"You can talk on the radio on your days off. Which brings me to rule number ten: when you talk on the radio, you don't mention anything related to the lab or the upside down. You don't even say your names."

Mike glowered, but Dustin perked right up. "You mean we have to use code names?"

* * *

"This is Bard to Ranger, come in, Ranger."

"This is Ranger."

"Have you done the math homework yet? Over."

"No."

"... No, over? Over."

"Dude, seriously?"

"It's simple etiquette, you know this! Cleric, come in. Over."

"Try channel 11. Over and out."

"... Cleric? Do you copy?"

"Yeah, I'm here. Is everything okay?"

"You're supposed to say, 'Bard, this is Cleric. Go ahead.' Over."

"Mage?"

"Hi, Mage. Say, 'Over,' when you're done. Over."

"Mage. Over?"

"Good! That was good! We'll keep working on it. Over."

"Did you need something?"

"Have you done the math homework?"

"Do it yourself."

"You suck. Not you, Mage. Cleric, you suck. Over and out."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi! H, here. Thanks for reading! I DID originally start posting this story on FFN (username diapason), but am considering switching to AO3, so I'm here to test the waters and explore all the differences in format. Pardon my dust!


End file.
